


Remind Me

by IceBlueRose



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Dean Winchester is Sheriff Stilinski, Gen, Post-series for Supernatural, Pre-series for Teen Wolf, Umbralillium's Raising Stiles 'verse, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25371112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceBlueRose/pseuds/IceBlueRose
Summary: "Tradition is tending the flame, not worshiping the ashes." - Gustav Mahler
Relationships: Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	Remind Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [umbralillium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbralillium/gifts).



> Six years ago, umbralillium prompted me with "Stiles and Papa Dean. Pie." I wrote this, set in her Raising Stiles 'verse, and posted it to Tumblr then promptly forgot to post it here. Oops! I remembered it recently and went looking for it, did some editing, then decided to post it here. If, for some reason, you want to read the original (complete with a different name for Mama Stilinski since it was before we knew her name), you can find that [here](https://locitarose.tumblr.com/post/88802859175/fanfic-prompt-stiles-and-papa-dean-pie-and-go). 
> 
> So, darling umbralillium, this one's for you (again!) because I'm pretty sure the only Teen Wolf fics that I've ever completed and posted have both been the results of conversations with you.

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his face unable to bring himself to get out of the car. Stiles was in the house and he’d been alone since school had let out and right now, Dean felt like a shitty father. Sam was out of town, Melissa was working a double shift, and there was literally no one else in this town he trusted his kid with, which meant his son was alone.

Christ, Dean hated doing that. Which was why he was sitting in his car and mentally berating himself rather than going inside.

Shaking his head at himself, Dean sighed and got out of the car, heading inside. The second he stepped over the threshold, he froze, grief and shock warring inside him. The rich scent of chocolate flooded his senses and he closed his eyes because this was something he hadn’t smelled in their house since before Claudia died.

Dean’s eyes snapped open and his breath caught in his throat, thoughts immediately flying to the worst possible scenarios.

He remembered Neil and his desperate grief all those years ago, remembered how Angela had come back _wrong_ and, damn it, what if Stiles had found out that it was possible? He was always looking for new books to read and while Sam had the more graphic ones locked up, Dean wasn’t stupid enough to believe that Stiles wouldn’t pick the lock if he got bored enough. If Stiles had found those books, if he’d found something that could bring back Claudia...damn it, Dean had avoided telling him about these things for a reason. Because how could he tell Stiles there was a way to bring his mom back but that she wouldn’t really be his mom anymore?

Dean shut the door quietly and made his way to the kitchen, praying that he was wrong, because even if he wanted to see his wife again more than anything, he didn’t want it to be like this.

The sight that met his eyes was one that Dean had come home to hundreds of times over the years. The kitchen was clean and a pie—his current favorite—was sitting on the cooling rack on the counter.

His breath caught in his throat and, for the second time in his life, it felt like hellhounds were ripping his chest open.

Swallowing over the lump in his throat, Dean clenched his hands into fists and took a deep breath, fighting to reign in the panic clawing at his insides.

“Dad?”

Dean turned to find Stiles watching him, eyes wary, from the doorway of the living room. He unclenched his hands and faced Stiles fully, taking in the way his arms were wrapped around himself and the tear tracks Stiles hadn’t quite managed to wipe off his cheeks.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

Stiles huffed and for a moment the look on his face was so much like his mother’s that Dean wanted to lock himself up in a room and never come out. Or find a demon to punch in the face. Maybe both.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, shifting his weight, reminding Dean so much of Claudia that it hurt. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”

_Because there’s pie in the kitchen and it smells like it did when your mom was alive and you look like you’ve been crying_ , Dean thought. He didn’t say any of that out loud, of course, but he thought about it. Instead he simply raised an eyebrow and gave Stiles a pointed look. Stiles huffed again in frustration and let his arms drop. This time it made Dean want to smile because as much as it hurt to see, Dean couldn’t help but love how much Stiles had in common with Claudia in moments like this one.

“It’s your birthday,” Stiles reminded him and, shit, Dean couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about that. He’d been working (and drinking, a voice that sounded much too much like Sam’s pointed out) so much lately and focusing on everything else to keep from thinking about losing Claudia that he’d completely forgotten that his birthday was coming up—his first since Claudia had died.

He really was a shitty father. Claudia had always made a big deal about birthdays and Stiles had helped her and here it was, the first birthday for either of them since they’d lost her (lost her, what a fucking worthless expression, as if they’d just misplaced Claudia and couldn’t find her) and he hadn’t been home for most of it.

“I made you your favorite pie. Mom said that was your new favorite and she always made your favorite on your birthday and I was really careful, Dad, I didn’t burn myself or anythi—“ Stiles stopped talking as Dean grabbed him and hauled him close for a hug. Dean closed his eyes and let a small smile cross his face as Stiles wrapped his arms around his waist and pressed his face against Dean’s stomach. He ran a hand over the back of Stiles’s head and then squeezed the back of his neck softly.

“Thanks, Stiles.” He could feel the way Stiles smiled in response and gave him one last squeeze before pulling back.

“PIE,” Stiles exclaimed in what Dean was certain was his loudest voice possible before he grabbed Dean by the hand and dragged him to the kitchen.

Dean grinned and shook his head as Stiles shoved him in to a chair. “Kid, isn’t that pie supposed to stay in the fridge?” he asked as he registered what kind of pie it was.

Stiles paused in reaching out for the pie dish and shot him a look that was a mix between _Oh, you noticed_ and _No shit, Sherlock, way to state the obvious_. His kid was talented like that. “I called the station and asked Jeannie to call me when you were coming home so I could take it out,” he said.

And then he’d put the pie on the rack, not because it needed to be cooled but because it was what Claudia had always done. Dean wasn’t sure if he should smile or cry but crying would ruin the mood so he smiled for Stiles instead.

“Nice thinking.”

“It’s genetic,” Stiles grinned.

“Now you’re just flattering me.”

“Who said anything about you? I get all my good thinking from Uncle Sammy.”

His kid was also a little shit. Dean’s smile turned to a grin. “That so? I guess that’s why I catch you so often when you’re trying to be sneaky.”

Stiles gaped at him and then blew out a breath, hiding his smile and carefully lifting the pie off the counter and bringing it to the table where two plates and forks were waiting along with the pie server that doubled as a knife. (Claudia had delighted in that thing because it meant less dishes to wash.)

“Happy birthday, Dad,” Stiles said quietly, setting the pie down between them. “It’s your favorite.”

Dean couldn’t resist running a hand over Stiles’ head again as he stared down at the Brownie Cheesecake Snickers pie. “Are you going to sing too?”

Stiles looked mildly horrified before he managed to hide it. “I, um, I can?” It was more a question than anything and Dean had to press his lips together to keep from laughing. He knew Stiles could sing but he usually only did it when he thought no one was around.

“Stop looking like I’m about to handcuff you to a chair and interrogate you, complete with bright lights, Stiles. No, you don’t have to sing,” Dean told him, putting him out of his misery.

“Oh good,” Stiles sighed. He grinned as Dean rolled his eyes. “We cutting it or are we just going to stare at it and marvel at my culinary genius?”

Christ, Dean was sure the sarcasm was karma for every smartass comment he’d ever made when Sam asked him a question.

“I don’t think your head needs to be any bigger,” Dean assured him. While Stiles made offended noises, Dean cut them each a slice before sliding a plate towards Stiles. “Now, eat.”

“Birthday boy gets first bite,” Stiles said. “Tradition.”

Dean glanced down, a small smile on his face as Stiles recited one of Claudia’s birthday rules. (Not that he’d argued with that one. Hell yeah, he got first bite.) “So it is.” Dean took a bite and his eyebrows shot up. The pie tasted exactly the way it had when Claudia had first made him taste test it. He’d known, logically, that Claudia had Stiles in the kitchen with her whenever she was making pies and that she’d been teaching him all her tricks but he’d never had a chance to experience it.

“What? What’s that look for? Is it gross?”

Dean looked up to see Stiles eyeing his piece of pie like it was going to eat him instead of the other way around. Snorting, he shook his head. “No.” He took another bite. “Try it.”

Stiles glanced up at him as if trying to test if he was actually sincere before he took a bite. A tiny surprised smile appeared on his face once he did and Dean just knew that he’d spent the last few hours worrying over whether or not the pie had actually come out like it was supposed to. Rather than ignore the moment to avoid getting too emotional like he normally would have, Dean reached out and clasped a hand around Stiles’ wrist, squeezing gently.

“Tastes just like your mom’s.”

The blinding smile he got in return was worth every chick flick moment in the world.


End file.
